Untrammeled Beast
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Fenrir has a hunger. Harry satisfies it. SLASH Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter


A/N: I got a lot of requests to do this pairing again, so here it goes. It is not connected to Wild in any way.

**Untrammeled Beast**

"_The best men are not consistent in good- why should the worst men be consistent in evil?"_

_-Wilkie Collins_

Fenrir Greyback was once in love. He was barely twenty at the time, and still young enough to get nervous flutterings in his belly when a girl smiled at him. She was younger still. Some would say that she was too young, but anyone that had ever made eye contact could tell you that the age of her soul far exceeded the age of her frail fourteen-year-old body. Fenrir loved her when his father offhandedly introduced them at a local dance, and she was too shy to look him in the eye for more than a moment.

Her name was Grace, a name he would find ironic in his old age.

Courting her was difficult, since her father was a hard man and her mother had succumbed to a nervous heart condition years before and died before her time. He persevered through every ugly look her father gave him and finally won the honor of taking her on a walk in the starlight. They talked little, neither of them much for idle chatter. He kissed her face and held her hand and promised to never do anything that she didn't want him to.

That was the last promise he kept. Unfortunately, the day she told him what she wanted was the same day he discovered that her mother's weak heart was shared with her daughter. It was too much of a shock to her, all those new sensations and feelings. She died within minutes of their copulation, and he held her until all the warmth left her.

Of course her father knew immediately what had shocked his daughter to death and he drove Fenrir from the town with threats against his life. Fenrir didn't fight him. He didn't think he would be able to live a day longer in the town that was filled with memories of Grace's smell, her favorite things and places.

He left for the wilderness ringing their isolated town and soon lost himself in the depths of it. He found himself on a mountain top, gasping for breath and having no idea how he reached its summit. There was a cave on that mountain, and he mistakenly disturbed the Werewolf that lived that. He was bitten and turned, and spent the next few decades serving his Sire until the old grey passed on.

He returned to the flat lands and tried to find a place for himself in the world from which he'd been cut off.

It was hard to pinpoint the day it first began, but ever since then Fenrir slid deeper and deeper into his desires and further from the inhibitions of society. He drank until he couldn't remember his name, devoured anything that appealed to his stomach, took what he wanted, and fucked anything he lusted after. There was no one to stop him, no one to care if he destroyed himself in his relentless quest for gratification.

But despite everything he did, all the children he killed just to hear them scream, he was not satisfied. He went deeper into his desires, trying to find what it was that he wanted (Grace was what he wanted, but he couldn't have Grace anymore; nobody could). If he could just have it, whatever it was, then maybe he could stop this insane lifestyle and be happy.

His mind wouldn't divulge the secret, and his heart was locked away from him ever since that horrible day. He believed that he'd killed his soul when he was quite younger than he was now. There was nothing left for him to ask. There was only him and the hunger and loneliness that grew larger and more impossible to satisfy every day.

The lonelier he was, the more he tried to immerse himself in his Pack. He forged relationships with the few women that ran with the Pack, and even a man once, but felt just as empty as before. All humans and wolves were mere shadows to him, dull and without lasting interest. There was nothing, no one.

Then, tired beyond bearing of the constant searching and debauchery, he stopped as gradually as he'd begun. He gave up, and ignored the hunger. This was easy to do when the First War ended and he was captured at last and flung into Azkaban. There was a lot of time to be lonely there.

He spent most of it asleep, dreaming of walking, walking, walking but getting nowhere.

His release was illegal though that didn't mean anything to him anymore. He did as Voldemort wanted, simply because there was nothing else to do and he was used to not thinking about his actions. Everything went on the same as it had inside Azkaban, the only difference that his time was split between battles and the long waiting between them.

It depressed him further when he realized that he was now older than the oldest man in his childhood village. He was nigh unto seventy years of age, or thirty-nine in Muggle reckoning. His prime was sprinting past him.

Harry Potter was the nuisance who haunted Voldemort. He didn't think much of him, and didn't even know what he looked like other than a tattered newspaper clipping of a sullen-looking youth with too much hair on his head.

That changed when he met him in person. It was an accident, their meeting. It wasn't a raid, or an attack, or even a little skirmish between the Light and the Dark. No. They met in a grocery store, where Fenrir had gone to buy Bella's favorite chocolates as a favor to her husband, who wasn't allowed in public due to risk of recognition. All Fenrir had to do was shave and trim his hair and he looked like a completely different person, and Voldemort knew better than to restrict him.

Harry was buying coffee, eggs, butter, wheat bread, and tomatoes. He had grown his hair out so that it didn't look quite so intense anymore, and wore different glasses. He looked…nice. Ordinary. Not all like a boy hero or vessel of all that was wrong in the world, as Voldemort described him during his tirades.

He followed him around the store, being as unobtrusive about it as possible. Harry bought things to make soup with, and hummed along to the song playing on the radio.

Fenrir wasn't sure why he didn't report the boy to the Dark Lord, but something was holding him here, fascinated.

And then Harry turned around to come back the way he'd come, towards the registers, and their eyes met. Harry stopped, and Fenrir didn't look away. kindly allow him to revise his earlier opinion of Harry. Harry was not nice-looking. He was beautiful. He wasn't ordinary. He made every other person (with the exception of Grace) look like shit in comparison with the light he seemed to radiate just by _being. _

His mouth was parched, but there was nothing to whet it with. And now Harry was coming closer…his basket is being put down on the floor next to him, and he is coming still closer, and finally he rested his head against Fenrir's chest.

Fenrir wrapped his arms around him and held tight, not questioning Harry's affection or whether it is appropriate to the time, circumstances, or their political loyalties.

All he knew was that Harry had Grace's eyes.

He could smell his tears, and heard him whisper, "Oh, Fen, what have you done?"

It _was _Grace, brought back to him in this boy's body. He pulled him still closer, until Harry's feet are between his on the tiles and his nose is crushed to his breastbone.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Grace…I didn't mean to…"

All he can do is apologize, but Grace-Harry doesn't mind and stays just where she-he is, in his arms. And the hunger is satisfied. He is fulfilled at last and a lonely wolf king no longer.

It is harder to explain this to the Order of the Phoenix, but their convincing may have had something to do with the sheer size of Fenrir and his adamant refusal to even stop holding Harry's hand. His knowledge of the inner-workings of Voldemort's party is what ends the Second War, and he is pleased to have been useful to the people his darling consider friends.

Best of all, Harry doesn't die when they finally found somewhere to be alone to celebrate in private.

~000~

End Untrammeled Beast

For those of you who didn't get it, Harry is Grace re-incarnated. And yes, this does still make Fenrir gay. But he's cool with that, I swear.


End file.
